Page 31 of The Woman at the Funeral

Just the thought of that had my stomach lurching for reasons I was choosing not to analyze.

I couldn’t do it.

No way.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nico

One minute, I was sure my connection with Blair was going to be over for good.

The next, I could see her falling in love with the apartment above mine, could hear the regret in her voice when she told the real estate agent she just wasn’t sure. Likely because she didn’t want to make it weird by moving into my building. Especially after the two of us started to uncover more lies about Matt’s life together.

The thing was, after she ran for her life toward me, her bloody hands clenching my shirt, I decided I needed to keep a closer eye on her. Especially since I had no idea why Matt had been killed. Or by whom.

If there was even a small chance that she’d been chased through the North Woods because of her late husband instead of some random, opportunistic crime, I wanted to make sure she was safe.

“Consider it,” I urged her when I drove her home. “I could see how much you liked it. There’s no reason it has to be weird.”

But as the days passed and I heard nothing, I figured she’d written the idea off.

Until a moving truck pulled up out front.

And a very familiar couch was being carried inside.

There was no good reason for the way my heart sank that she hadn’t told me she’d made the decision, that she was going to be moving in. Other than, of course, all those pesky unrequited feelings I was clearly still dealing with with regarding her.

I sighed, forcing myself to move away from the window.

If she wanted to tell me, she would have told me.

Clearly, she wanted to start over without any attachments to Matthew and all his lies—lies I’d been implicated in. Even if I’d been as in the dark as she’d been, I was still a reminder of all of it.

I wasn’t going to make that transition harder for her by doing something desperately needy like going out there to greet her.

Instead, I made sure I didn’t see her, then made my way out, deciding to spend the day catching up on errands I’d let slide all month while trying to find anything on the car that did the drive-by. To no avail.

By the time I made it back home—arms loaded down with dry cleaning bags and groceries—the moving truck seemed long gone.

I hated that I looked for Blair through the lobby and hesitated with my finger over her floor before punching in my own instead.

The thing I liked best about these condos when I first moved in—the thick walls, the great insulation, things that kept the city sounds outside where they belonged—were the very things I cursed when I could hear nothing from above me. No moving around, no music, nothing.

“Get a fucking grip,” I grumbled as I gathered the ingredients to throw dinner together.

It was right then that I heard a knock on the door.

My lips curved up, mentally swearing that my brothers could sense when I was about to cook something and made their way over to mooch off me instead of cooking for themselves.

Lord knew I’d forced all of them to learn the basics, rambling off things about “life skills” being mandatory (cleaning and laundry included) while they grumbled and dragged their feet.

“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” I called as I reached to slide the locks and pull the door open.

But it wasn’t Leo, Gav, or Zeno at the door.

It was Blair.

She stood there in a pair of tan high-waisted slacks and a tight black top with a square neckline. Her hair was pulled back. Understated golden loops were at her earlobes. Her trademark locket was around her neck.

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